


Quality Care

by Meg13



Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Jim's grossed out again, Making Out, Romance, Toby's impressed though, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 12:13:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14056752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meg13/pseuds/Meg13
Summary: He's been injured before, sure. But he's never gotten such good care.





	Quality Care

**Author's Note:**

> I have never been stabbed, nor am I a medical professional... So this premise is probably totally unrealistic but I wanted whump, romance, angst, humor, and some good old fashioned making out all rolled into one. Plus, dude's a troll so anything goes really.

“Shit, shit!” Strickler curses as he lurches across the small cave masquerading as an infirmary and collapses backward onto the clean, yet entirely uncomfortable cot. He may have suffered much more severe injuries over the centuries, but the placement of this particular wound is causing piercing, sharp pains to jolt up his side with every movement he makes. “Fuck.”

 

“Tsk tsk,” comes a somewhat amused voice from the mouth of the cave. Strickler looks up from the glass shard protruding from the lower right side of his abdomen and glowers at Barbara as she pulls on her latex gloves and casually strolls toward him. “Language, Mr. Strickler.”

 

“You’d be cursing too, if you had a piece of glass the size of a hunting knife sticking out of your side,” Strickler snarls before he can help himself. He manages to pull himself into a sitting position, his back to the edge of the cave as Barbara squats down in front of him to inspect the severity of the situation.

 

“A butter knife, perhaps,” Barbara scoffs, eyeing the object protruding from her ex. “But definitely not a hunting knife.”

 

“Semantics,” Strickler hisses through clenched teeth. He winces when Barbara pushes two fingers against the raw, red skin puckering around the glass but manages to keep his groan of pain at bay. “So?”

 

“We’ll have to amputate.”

 

“What!?”

 

“I’m joking,” Barbara chuckles and stands back up, hands on her hips. “It’s deep enough to keep you off your feet for a day or so, but you’ll heal up quick enough. I’m going to give you a local numbing agent to help with the pain and then I’ll pull the glass out. It’s not bleeding right now, but it will.”

 

Strickler nods. He’s been stabbed before, after all, and understands the healing process pretty well.

 

“So, what happened?” Barbara asks as she pulls the portable medical cart to the cot and carefully tugs at the hole in his button-down to create a larger space for her to work with. “I thought you were just picking up a few things from your old office.”

 

“Tobias blew our cover,” the last word comes out as a gasp as another wave of pain pulses through his side and causes the sudden urge to throw up. “We were trapped so he swung that hammer of his into the window. One of those little _gremlins_ grabbed a shard and stabbed me while I was helping the boy out the window.”

 

 “Is Toby okay?”

 

“Yes, fine.” Strickler takes a deep, shaky breath as Barbara leans forward to clean the blood from a small patch of his skin. Gritting his teeth, he _nearly_ contains a grunt a moment later when the lidocaine is injected.

 

“Good,” Barbara mutters distractedly as she discards her gloves and the used needle. She turns back to him and purses her lips. “Okay. Take off your shirt.”

 

Despite the pain, Strickler manages a playful smirk. “And my pants?”

 

“Actually,” Barbara contemplates the position of the wound, “yes. Pants too.”

 

“Wow,” Strickler’s teasing has a wheezing quality to it, “I didn’t think that would actually work. Shall I remove my briefs as well?”

 

Rolling her eyes (though she’s more amused than anything), Barbara stands up and raises an eyebrow. “I’ll chalk your flirting up to blood loss.”

 

“Please don’t,” Strickler implores and manages a lopsided grin that causes Barbara’s breath to catch in her throat. She can almost imagine seeing that grin before; in another time, another place. “Don’t chalk it up to blood loss.”

 

They lapse into an awkward silence at that. Not awkward in the traditional sense, but awkward in that ‘how did we get here and how can we fix this’ way. Because Barbara still can’t really remember why the mere thought of him makes her want to scream and cry and laugh all at the same time, and Strickler has never before felt this all-consuming need to repent, to repair something he’s broken so badly in his centuries long life.

 

“Um,” Barbara clears her throat, breaking eye contact. “Here, let me help.”

 

Strickler blinks and silently shifts back as Barbara stoops forward to unbuckle his leather belt. He watches her intently, almost predatorily, causing her to fumble the button on his trousers and tug a little too forcefully on the zipper as she considers how much of that intensity carried over into the bedroom.

 

 “Can you just… Maybe just raise up a little?”

 

The changeling nods and pushes a few inches off the cot, hissing slightly at the pain the movement causes as Barbara works the khakis over his hips. Her breath hitches at the sight of his black briefs, flashes of what _could_ be memories flitting through her vision, but somehow maintains her composure. It’s funny, really – she’s undressed thousands of patients before, but never has it felt this personal, this _intimate_ before.

 

“Are you alright, love?”

 

Barbara blushes at the use of the endearment. “I think I should be asking you that.”

 

“I’ve been injured much, much worse before,” Strickler confesses softly as Barbara gently tugs the khakis free. “But I can honestly say, I’ve never received such attentive care before.”

 

The low, seductive tone he reserves for that last sentence causes a literal shiver to course through her and the doctor has to take a deep breath before she’s able to stand properly. “Can I help you with your shirt?”

 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

 

Barbara hesitates a moment and then positions herself so that her knees are pressing against the frame of the cot, just outside of Strickler’s. It’s easier for her to balance this way as she stoops forward to pop open the remains of the tattered shirt. When she reaches the last button, she unconsciously extends her fingers to rake against the skin just above the line of Strickler’s briefs. He inhales sharply at the contact and Barbara looks up.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“Fine,” Strickler breathes. “Fine.”

 

“You seem flushed,” Barbara whispers, her tone both playful and concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay?

 

He’s not - not even a little bit - but he’s not about to let that stop that from whatever _this_ is either, so he ignores his screaming side and surges forward without warning, his fingers curling around the back of Barbara’s head as his lips crash against hers. The kiss isn’t gentle – not with months of anger and regret and longing fueling it – but urgent, almost desperate in its fervor and Barbara can’t stop herself from sinking onto her knees to straddle him as her hand snakes around his neck to pull him closer.

 

Strickler all but growls at the change in position and drops his left hand to Barbara’s waist before slipping it under her scrub top to clutch her side. Her breath hitches as his hand on her bare skin sends a shiver of arousal through her and she forces herself not to scoot forward on his lap to grind against him. Her self control does not, however, stop her from whimpering as he blazes a trail of kisses along her jawline to nip at her ear.

 

Redirecting his attention to her neck, Strickler mumbles a gruff “missed you” against Barbara’s skin while his hand creeps up over her rib cage. She arcs into him, her short nails digging into his scalp, when his thumb slips under her bra and the resulting gasp causes his dick to twitch appreciatively. He groans and uses his right hand, fingers still tangled in her hair, to guide her lips back down to his while his left pushes the bra aside entirely.

 

“Was it always like this?” Barbara murmurs minutes later, surprised by how quickly things have escalated and how entirely _right_ it feels that they have.

 

“Mhmm.” Strickler pulls back just enough to smirk at her. “Better even.”

 

Barbara’s eyelashes flutter and she dips forward to kiss him again - just as Jim skids into the cave, Toby hot on his heels, and squawks, “Oh, come on man!”

 

The adults immediately cease the heavy petting, but neither of them makes a move to disentangle themselves as Barbara has somehow lost her bra without even realizing it and Strickler would rather the teenagers not get a glimpse of his raging hard-on.

 

“This is so awkward,” Barbara breathes and drops her eyes to find Strickler glaring petulantly over her shoulder. She finds the way his bottom lip sticks out endearing and giggles until his gaze shifts to her and the corners of his mouth creep into a small smile. “I always thought I’d be busting him, not the other way around.”

 

“You said he was dying,” Jim complains irritably, and Barbara takes that as her cue to carefully remove herself from the changeling’s lap. “You said he had a piece of glass the size of Daylight sticking out of his side.”

 

Strickler shoots Barbara a pointed, told-you-so look and she laughs again.

 

“He does!” Toby yelps. His face appears to the side of Jim. “By the way, mad props for getting busy with that stuck in you, Strick-dick.”

 

“Toby!”

 

“What?” Toby shrugs. “It’s impressive.”

 

“You’re not helping,” Jim huffs and grimaces as he watches his mother and ex principal eyeing each other suggestively. “And seriously? Cover that thing up, would you?”

 

Strickler snorts and glances down at the glass still sticking out of his side. Now that he’s gotten a better look, the shard really is more the size of a butter knife. “It’s not that bad. I can barely feel it now that the pain medication has kicked in.”

 

“I am not,” Jim hisses slowly through clenched teeth, “talking about the stab wound.”

 

Without breaking eye contact with the outraged teen, Strickler reaches sideways and pulls Barbara’s discarded bra onto his lap.

 

“Mom!”


End file.
